Britain's atomic test veterans remember nuclear tests of 1950s

Britain's 1950s atomic test veterans have won a High Court bid for the right
to sue the Government for compensation. Here, they remember their
experiences.

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Kenneth McGinley was among 22,000 servicemen who witnessed the explosion of an eight-megaton nuclear bomb during tests on Christmas Island in 1957.Photo: PA

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ormer RAF pilot Eric Danson who it is alleged contracted cancer while flying through the cloud caused by a nuclear test explosion on Christmas Island.Photo: CHRIS PLEDGER

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Veteran David Harman outside The High Court in London.

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Atomic bomb mushroom cloudPhoto: PA

By Neil Tweedie

12:37PM BST 05 Jun 2009

Kenneth McGinley has one abiding memory of the Grapple Y hydrogen bomb test off Christmas Island, the blinded birds.

He was 19 then, in April 1958, a sapper in the Royal Engineers. Posted to the remote Pacific atoll in January of that year, he had spent the previous three months helping to build barracks and other facilities for the thousands of servicemen engaged in Britain’s thermo-nuclear test programme.

“I had never heard of the hydrogen bomb or the atomic bomb and I was only vaguely aware of what had happened at Hiroshima and Nagasaki,” he explains.

Grapple Y was Britain’s biggest-ever nuclear test, officially a three-megaton monster, but possibly much more powerful than stated. Sapper McGinley was standing on a beach 25 miles away from the point of detonation. He had been issued with white overalls and told to turn away and cover his eyes with clenched fists.

“I think it exploded at a lower level than anticipated because there was an awful lot of dirt flying about,” he remembers. “After the explosion we were instructed to turn and watch the mushroom cloud rise. We were then told to take off our overalls and place them in a pile.

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“It began to rain. The rain was discoloured and fell in large, heavy drops. Men, who I believe were scientists, wearing white suits and distinctive hoods and large black goggles began shouting for us to take cover in the tents.

“It was at this time that I got my first taste of black rum. It was a tradition in the Navy to serve black rum after rainfall. I did not like it at all.

“Before we went off duty, we were ordered to kill the birds which had been injured by the explosion. Some were still flying around but they were blind as their eyes had been burnt out. We used pickaxe handles to kill the birds. I did not like doing this but we had no choice because of the terrible condition they were in.”

Mr McGinley, 70, is one of the thousand nuclear test veterans attempting to sue the government for cancers and other illnesses they say were caused by participation in Britain’s atmospheric nuclear test programme between 1952 and 1958. As the country prepares to honour the veterans of D-Day and the Normandy campaign, the plight of these men goes largely un-noticed.

The High Court in London has now decided to allow the veterans to proceed with a class action for compensation. The Ministry of Defence, which has consistently denied responsibility for the men’s illnesses, argued that their claim should be struck out under the Limitation Act because they did not sue within three years of injury, or within three years of discovery of injury.

The decision to allow the veterans to sue the MoD for negligence is the culmination of a 50-year struggle for justice.

As many as 27,000 men, including contingents from New Zealand and Fiji, took part in the tests, which began with Operation Hurricane, the detonation of Britain’s first atomic bomb in the Monte Bello Islands off the north-west coast of Australia.

Following his return to Britain from the Pacific, Mr McGinley fell ill. One night in barracks he awoke to find himself in a pool of blood. An undiagnosed duodenal ulcer had burst. He later discovered he was infertile. Skin complaints, cysts and other conditions, followed.

“One of the reasons I feel anxious is because I was involved in the test programme and I have to live with the worry of how this has affected my health,” he says.

Britain in the 1950s was fighting to preserve her world position and atomic weapons promised a return to the top table. Risks were taken and corners cut in the drive for the bomb. Society was still deferential and young servicemen did not question orders that would be questioned today.

Arthur Hart was a 19-year-old sailor when he encountered the awesome power of the atom. His ship, the destroyer Diana, was ordered to Australia to take part in the Mosaic series of A-bomb tests.

“The ship’s company was only told some days before that the first test that HMS Diana’s role in the nuclear trials would be to steam through the nuclear fall-out,” he remembers. “During the trial I was located on the upper deck breathing fresh air.”

He would go on to suffer various skin complaints and has now developed bowel cancer. It is all very different to the re-assuring message conveyed in the March 1959 edition of Soldier magazine, which reported on the operation on Christmas Island. The atoll, six hours’ flying time south of Hawaii, was chosen for thermo-nuclear testing as the Uk struggled to catch up with the United States and Soviet Union. In the article, an unidentified sapper in the Royal Engineers described a life hard work and hard play in the tropical sunshine. Following a test he writes: “Contamination is negligible. My total dose to date is about the same as I get from my luminous wrist watch every fortnight.”

In fact, monitoring of servicemen was sporadic. Men were offered little protection during tests and allowed to eat fish contaminated by nuclear fall-out. The horror of an H-bomb explosion would live in the memory.

Christopher Noone, an RAF mechanic stationed on Christmas Island, remembers: “At the moment of the test, despite eyes closed, hands over eyes and knees jammed against hands, the inside of the head became intensely white, heat building inside the body to an almost unbearable temperature, appearing to radiate from inside. For seconds it was that way, then the light started to diminish along with the heat, leaving an impression of finger and knee bones like an X-ray.”

Shirley Denson has been a widow for 33 years now. Her husband Eric was one of the most talented pilots in the RAF, and his talent would be his undoing. He and the crew of his Canberra bomber were chosen to fly through the mushroom cloud of the Grapple Y explosion to gather samples. A dose meter positioned in the cockpit over his head registered a radiation level four times the safe annual limit. His young wife was informed by telegram that: “Flight Lieutenant Denson returning due to radiation dosage”.

“He was a different man, he had changed,” says Mrs Denson. “He was restless and had mood swings. He was a Yorkshireman, a very professional pilot and he was normally calm. It just got worse and worse and worse. It was awful to watch: his struggle to maintain his control. He used to hold his head in his hands and say what the hell is happening to my head?’.

Six years after retiring from the RAF as a Squadron Leader, Mr Denson killed himself. A specialist in radiation medicine told his wife that the nuclear flash had in all probability damaged her husband’s brain – his head had been exposed at the time, protected only by the Perspex canopy.

“The Canberra crews were absolute heroes, but I have never been able to contact any of them – the MoD will not help. These men were gentlemen – they were told never to talk about it and my husband never did. I remember though that he cried when he left for Christmas Island. I do not know if it was the length of the posting – he was supposed to be gone for a year and we had just had our first child – or that he knew what was coming. The only remark he made after his return was to my father. He told him it was like the Charge of the Light Brigade, going into the valley of death.

“D Day veterans are totally valued and respected and shown appreciation. When you go into a war you go think you have a chance. The nuclear veterans were subjected to something that didn’t miss, they had no chance. There were no accolades, no thankyous, no after care, no checks. They knew they had given Eric this enormous dose of radiation and it was all kept quiet. They take the best of young men and use them for their own ends and then abandon them.”